


No Promises

by witchmaidensworld



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Romance, my brain died while writing this, sorry it's flat, tiny bit of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22803205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchmaidensworld/pseuds/witchmaidensworld
Summary: Blackwall isn't prepared to watch his Inquisitor fall.
Relationships: Blackwall/Female Inquisitor, Blackwall/Female Lavellan
Kudos: 16





	No Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by something that happened during one of my play-throughs of DA:I. I don't recall which dragon my party was fighting, but my Inquisitor took a bit of a tumble off a ledge mid-fight, thus inspiring this fic. I meant to write this forever ag.

Somehow fighting dragons had become a thing they just did. 

There were certain members of their party who were certainly not complaining, and though he’d heard an odd protest here and there against the act, they still found their way dodging claw and flame and ice. 

“Cole, the leg!” Blackwall swung his shield around to connect hard with the beast’s jaw, taking its attention off the slim boy even for a second. The dragon snarled and swung its head out of reach, gaze now fixed solely on the Warden. Blackwall took a step back, centering himself with sword and shield raised and ready against whatever onslaught would come his way. He could see Cole from the corner of his field of vision, a flash of a colored shirt and then gone. Bursts of magic exploded along the dragon’s side, the ice and fire marking the combined effort of the pair of mages.

Dorian at least managed to look less than thrilled, but Layna… She was momentarily framed by flames exploding against a boulder behind her, turning her copper hair into living gold. Her eyes were lit up, mouth stretched open in a grin. Her armor was smoking from where a bit of the flame had dropped on the sleeve, and her staff was dripping magic.

Blackwall had never seen her look so beautiful, and so terrifying. 

His attention snapped back into focus when a shadow drowned out her gold and flame. His heart twisted painfully and dropped heavily to his stomach, and his shout of warning came too late. He watched in horror as she fell, the triumphant roar of the beast as a backdrop.

~~~

The atmosphere in the tavern was too lively, though it was expected. Even in his gloomy state, Blackwell at least acknowledged how appropriate the constant cheers and bouts of singing filling the space was, voices slurred from too much drink and the air too warm. Layna of course is in the center of activity, pressed on all sides by all manner of Inquisition. The Iron Bull casually reclines beside her, at least giving her a small corner of space to breathe, though his attention is permanently fixed on the dark haired mage to his right. 

Just then Layna looked up and their gazes met across the writhing mass of drunken and celebrating soldiers. The tone of her eyes shifted from invitation to confusion to sorrow. Blackwall scowled and turned away. He didn’t even feel like finishing the drink in front of him. Tossing a coin onto the sticky counter, he rose and headed for the door. 

The cool night air was a blessing after the confines of the tavern, and with the level of celebration happening inside, it seemed there were fewer men on the walls and the courtyards were just a little bit darker. If he’d been younger, Blackwall imagined he would take advantage of it, sneaking a pretty girl off for some privacy. Immediately he imagined copper hair in his hands and stormy eyes softening in a way that made him weak. He growled and shoved the thought away. 

It only took a few minutes to cross from the tavern to the more secluded corner where he’d taken residence, but tonight it felt even longer. The sounds of celebration behind him never seemed to get quieter the further away he got, and the fight from earlier was catching up. His whole body was screaming for him to stop, every muscle aching deeply. If he’d been anywhere else other than Skyhold, he probably could have laid down right where he stood and no one would care much. He could just be another passed out drunk for a city guard to take care of in the morning. 

The climb up to his loft was the hardest of all, but once there, he breathed in relief. Here it was silent, comfortable, safe. He still moved slowly, taking his time in removing each piece of armor and then the thick padded overcoat. His muscles still protested, but they were getting easier to ignore. It was all a part of getting older, he supposed. If he had caught sight of himself in a mirror, would he see his age staring back at him? 

“Blackwall.” 

The soft voice should have surprised him. Maybe if he hadn’t been drinking, maybe if he hadn’t been too lost in his thoughts, or maybe if he hadn’t been expecting to be followed, he would have drawn his sword at her, scared both of them half to death.

Layna’s colors were more subdued here, the single candle on the table flickering it’s shadows across her skin. She didn’t move from her place beside the ladder, her weight leaning to rest more on her left foot. Her hands fidgeted with the buttons on her coat; it was thrown haphazardly over her shoulders, her arms not even in the sleeves. She must have rushed out after him the moment he left.  
“Is there something I can help you with, Inquisitor?” He tried to keep his tone respectful, at the very least bordering on proper. But the bite of anger snuck in anyway.

Layna winced, ears twitching. Her fingers stopped mid-fidget, and she hugged her arms tighter against her chest. “You’re angry with me.”

“Me, angry?” Blackwall mimicked the gesture, though his stance with folded arms appeared more like he was bracing for something. “Now what gives you that idea?” 

“I’m not stupid!” Her tone rose, and then her expression fractured, giving him a glimpse of the true Layna beneath the Inquisitor’s mask. “You haven’t said more than three words to me in the past week--”

“Probably because you were unconscious for half that time, or did you forget taking on the dragon? Wouldn’t surprise me, given how battered you were afterward!” More of his vehemence broke through his tone, and he felt the all too familiar edge of anger. 

Layna’s face twisted with fury. He recognized the expression, she’d worn it many times in battle against their enemies, even more so when faced with individuals who committed more atrocious acts. Seeing that expression turned on him with no hint of the Inquisitor’s mask- just Layna staring at him with seething rage- well, it was enough to send him to his knees. 

Blackwell steadied himself with one hand on the work table beside him, at least saving himself some dignity though it wouldn’t matter much for the tongue lashing he was about to get from the slim elf. She was so quiet, but he could feel her anger like some physical presence in the room. 

“You have no right,” she finally choked out, and the flickering candlelight revealed the sheen of tears in her eyes. “I am your Inquisitor.”

“You’re a bloody fool, is what you are.” But his shoulders slumped as he said it, every bit of anger and frustration he’d had fleeing his body so he only felt tired. Blackwall lifted one hand to rub his eyes, hard enough so he saw stars, and then sighed deeply. “You could have been killed back there, and you’re standing among all those folks like it just didn’t happen. Do you have any idea what it was like watching you fall, thinking you were dead? And then you were just laying there and you were so still I really thought you’d left us all. Do you know what that’s like?”

“Blackwall…”

“No, of course you didn’t. You didn’t think; you just went and charged against that thing with no cover, no one to protect you.” He faltered, gaze fixed on the rough surface of the work table. “I wasn’t there to protect you, and you fell.”

He heard the rustle of clothing as she stepped closer, though her footsteps were as silent as ever. She placed a cool hand against his cheek, turning his face back to meet hers. This close, he could see the faint dusting of freckles on her cheeks and nose, and the way her gray eyes had a band of dark blue along the edges of her pupils.

“I didn’t die,” she breathed. “I’m here, living. Breathing. I’m alright.”

“But you could have died, and I wouldn’t have been able to save you.” He didn’t feel angry anymore, at least not in a way that was red and hot and urging him to harsh words and quick actions. He felt...tired. Sick to his stomach, and unprepared to face another round of the images of her body laying at the bottom of the drop, hair fanned out around her head, eyes closed, and skin so deathly pale the blood looked even more wrong. “I wasn’t able to save you.”

“But you did save me, Blackwall.” Layna’s voice had dropped to nearly a whisper, her hand on his face even more gentle, her lips temptingly close. “I remember. You came down that ridge so fast, and you wouldn’t let anyone else touch me. You did save me.” 

“I shouldn’t have let you fall.” It sounded weak even to him, and he realized he was just tired. Tired and relieved. Layna hadn’t died, she was whole and alive. 

Blackwall doesn’t think about blood when he takes her into his arms, pushing her firmly against the surface of the work table. He doesn’t think about flame as his hands work to remove her clothes, seemingly of their own accord. 

He does, however, think about flame when Layna’s mouth is against his, her body rising to meet him eagerly, and the heat between them explodes in a way that leaves them both panting and shaking in the chilly night air. 

The memory of what happened won’t leave him, he knows that. And there’s something too familiar about the way he takes Layna in his arms now, keeping her held close while he carries her to his bed. But it is different when she curls knowingly against his side, the blankets pulled tight around them, the heat of her breath on his face.

“Promise you won’t do that again?” he whispers into the small space between them.

Layna’s eyes glint with something like happiness and something more like mischief. “If it means we can do this more often...no promises at all, my dear Warden.” 

He sighs. He should press the issue, make her promise to be more careful. But in the moment, she's in his arms and he can't think beyond the contentment of having her with him.


End file.
